Shiver of Fear (39 page)

“But I have Devyn,” Marc said. “And she has a mean arm.”

Ah, yes. She remembered the story he’d shared with her in Belfast. The snowball fight, the sled riding, the kids “disappearing”
outside while Santa arrives.

In this house, tradition tasted as good as the food.

Marc tugged her up from the table. “Let’s find you a nice thick coat, some boots, and gloves. You’ll need armor out there.
But first, we’ll ride.”

“I have to sled?” she asked.

Marc guided her to the mudroom closet to pull out a faded down jacket. “You want a present, you get in the snow.” He handed
her the coat, studying her expression, which she imagined looked pretty uncertain. “You do want a present, don’t you, Dev?”

“I already have a present,” she replied. A thin blue line in the middle of an inch of white plastic. “You.”

He kissed her nose. “Come on, I’ll take you on my sled and show you how it’s done Rossi style.”

“Pffft!” Vivi stuck her head into the mudroom, already in a purple jacket with a blinding orange scarf. “Angelinos do it better.”

Devyn was still a little unsure of the sled plan a few minutes later, when they’d lined up five of them at the top of the
hill behind the house.

“See?” From behind, Marc wrapped his arms around her puffy coat with a reassuring hug. “Not steep.”

“But at least five hundred feet of icy snow,” she said.

He turned her around to look at him. “Relax. Enjoy this beautiful night.” He pulled her close and whispered, “I love you.”

Her body trembled in the down coat, but not from cold. From anticipation and excitement and bone-deep happiness. She covered
the shiver by looking around the yard, studying the bare oaks, their empty branches heavy with snow and icicles, the generous
full moon bathing it all in nature’s spotlight.

Vivi broke the peace by jumping on her sled and flying headfirst into the untouched snow.

“She has to be first,” Zach said, laughing as he got on a sled with Sam. “It’s like a law or something.”

“And she’ll throw the first bomb,” JP said as he boarded his sled.

“Let’s go.” Marc urged her onto the board, settling Devyn in first so he could brace her between his legs. “I’ll give us a
push and guide it. I’ll take care of you.”

With that, he gave the sled a solid push and they were off, the blades cutting through the powder as they let gravity take
them for a ride.

“It’s not just me anymore.” Her words floated on the air, almost lost in the wind. Marc grabbed the handles, leaned to the
left to pick up a little speed, then suddenly jerked to the side, forcing the sled to zip around, sending a rooster tail of
powder into the air and bringing them to a swift stop in the middle of the hill.

“
What
did you say?”

Her heart hammered so hard she could barely talk. She looked over her shoulder to meet his gaze. His wondrous, wide, shocked,
gobsmacked gaze. “You heard me.”

He just stared at her. “Are you… can you… do you…”

She couldn’t help laughing. He was speechless and so obviously overcome with joy. Oh, yes, that was joy on his face. And it
was all she needed to see.

“Am I what? Sure? Yes, I am.” She had the positive test to prove it. “Can I be any happier? No, I don’t think it’s possible.
Do I love you with all my heart?” She blinked at snowflakes and tears. “Yes, I do, Marc. I love you with all of my heart and
soul. Hearts and souls. I have two at the moment. We both love you.”

“Devyn.” His voice cracked and his eyes filled, and it wasn’t the frosted air that made them water.

“Hey, you two!” Vivi’s voice was distant, drowned out by Devyn’s pulse and the look in Marc’s eyes.

“What is it?”

“Will you—”

The explosion of snow landed right between them, powder silencing his question and freezing her face.

“I’m gonna have to kill her,” Marc said.

“Get in line,” Devyn said, already scooping snow.

“Wait, wait,” Marc insisted, grabbing her hand. “We’re not done here.”

“You want to lose the snowball fight?” she challenged. “What kind of example does that set for your son or daughter?” She
finished packing the ball and flung it with all her happy might.

It nailed Vivi right in the shoulder, eliciting a shriek.

“You”—Marc spun her around by the shoulders and squeezed—“are going to make a hell of an addition to the family.”

“Two additions. Me and Junior.” She kissed him fast and bent to get more snow, just missing a missile thrown over her head.

“Just one?” he asked. “I want five.”

She buckled with a laugh that came from deep inside. “Five it is.” Another snowball slammed her in the shoulder. “If we survive
Waterloo.”

“Wait a second.” He knelt next to her, pulling her close. “You didn’t even tell me how you feel yet.”

“How I feel? How do you think I feel?”

“I don’t know. Sick or tired? Happy or scared? How do you feel about this baby?”

She thought about that for a moment, a tear welling up as the answer came to her. “I feel—”

A soft grenade of snow exploded all over both of them. Even still, she felt completely, totally…“Warm.”

W
hen Vivi Angelino closed her mouth over a wide straw and sucked hard enough to hollow her delicate cheeks, Colton Lang almost
got a boner.

Almost.

The state of damn-near-hard was status quo around this woman, so in the few months he’d been sending consulting jobs to her
firm, Colt had learned a couple of tricks to ensure that
almost
didn’t become
obvious
.

He would focus on her outlandish black hair, made even more so today by the helmet and what appeared to be yesterday’s hair
gel. Or he’d let his gaze settle on the diamond dot in the side of her nose, concentrating on how much that puncture had to
have hurt instead of how it would feel to… run his tongue over the stone.

Or he’d simply remind himself that this skateboard-riding, sneaker-wearing, guitar-playing tomboy happened to have some of
the best investigative instincts around, and he wanted to keep the Guardian Angelinos in his back
pocket for certain jobs, so acting on a mindless surge of blood to his dick would be unprofessional and foolish.

That was usually enough to quell the erection. Sometimes. Today, finding her in this skate park with a little sheen of perspiration
making her pixie-like features glisten and her coffee-bean-brown eyes spark with unexpected interest, the boner might win
this battle.

But look at that outfit, Colt
. A long-sleeved cotton T-shirt that dangled off her narrow frame and faded green cargo pants frayed at the cuffs. He could
never be attracted to a woman who cared so little about herself that she rolled around Boston dressed like she’d shopped at
Goodwill.

He preferred a woman who looked like a woman, who wore a little makeup, had hair falling to her shoulders, and maybe strolled
– not
rolled
– through a park in a pretty sundress. He’d bet his bottom dollar she didn’t own a dress.

“All right, I’ll tell you,” she said after swallowing the sip she’d taken. “But I swear to God, Lang, don’t try to talk me
out of it because I want this job.”

“What job?”

“You’ve heard about the Red Carpet Killer, of course.”

He held his Coke, frozen mid-way to his mouth. “You don’t buy that malarkey, do you?”

She smiled. “Lang,
malarkey
hasn’t been sold for forty years. Can you get with this century? And two Oscar-winning actresses in a row are killed in two
consecutive years, weeks after winning? You really think that’s a coincidence?”

“One was an overdose, one was an accident. But I do
know there’s an FBI task force out of LA with an eye on the possibility of a copycat killer.”

“Exactly.” She pointed at him. “I don’t happen to think there’s a serial killer, either. But even if the first two deaths
are mere coincidence, there are five women in Hollywood who are scared spitless right now. They are ramping up security like
you wouldn’t believe.”

“You think they’re going to hire your firm for protection?” He tried not to scoff, he really did. But it was ludicrous. “A
brand new firm made up of an extended family of renegade Angelinos and Rossi cousins?”

No surprise, her espresso eyes tapered in disgust. “We are not renegades, for God’s sake. I’m a former investigative journalist,
in case you forgot, so getting a PI license was a natural move. Zach’s thriving in management, which frankly shocks the shit
out of me after all those years as an Army Ranger. And, yeah, our core employee base happens to be a few cousins my brother
and I were raised with—”

“Don’t forget Uncle Nino, providing pasta and daily encouragement.”

“Don’t knock my Nino,” she shot back. “And, for your information, we’re interviewing protection and security specialists,
including some highly qualified bodyguards. The Guardian Angelinos are experiencing a growth spurt.”

He angled his head in acknowledgment. “I know that, Vivi, especially since I keep throwing FBI consulting jobs at you. I just
think the actresses who are worried about being victims of a curse or a killer will hire the biggest and best in the protection
industry.”

“Maybe.” She took another drink, her eyes dancing
with some untold secret. “What do you think of Cara Ferrari?”

“I think I wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers.”

She looked skyward with a loud tsk. “I meant of her chances to win.”

“I don’t follow Hollywood too closely, but I did see that remake of
Now
,
Voyager
. My opinion? She was too melodramatic.”

“Fortunately, your opinion doesn’t matter. She’s got a chance.” She gave him a slow smile, revealing that tiny chip on her
front tooth. God, he’d thought about licking that, too. “So I think I have a chance, too.”

He just shook his head, not following, but maybe because his body was betraying him again.

“Look at me,” she demanded, leaning back to prop her hands on her hips and cock her head to one side.

“I’m looking.” That was the problem. She was so damn cute he forgot what they were talking about.

“
Look,
Lang.”

At what? The way her position pulled the T-shirt just tight enough to outline her breasts? They weren’t big but perky and
sweet, just as spunky as she was and, well, even on Vivi some things were feminine. Is that what she wanted him to look at?
Because, if he eyed them any longer, his hard-on was poised to make a reappearance.

“Don’t you see the resemblance?” She turned her face to give him a profile, lifting her chin, closing her eyes, and dropping
her head back in a classic movie star pose. His gaze drifted over her throat which was… just another fucking thing he wanted
to lick.

Jesus, Colt. Get a grip.

She spun her face around and for one insane second he thought she’d read his mind.

“I look exactly like Cara Ferrari,” she insisted.

He let out a soft hoot of laughter. “Are you as stoned as half these other skaters?”

She scowled at him. “Real skaters don’t get high, posers do. And look at this face,” she demanded, pointing to her cheeks
with two index fingers. “Is this not Cara Ferrari’s twin sister?”

He chuckled again. “Speaking of posers.”

“Lang,
damn
it.” Frustration heightened her color, making her even
cuter.
“Everyone says I look like her. I mean, if my hair were longer and I, you know, had some makeup on.”

“Like a truckload.”

“I get stopped and asked if I’m Cara Ferrari all the time,” she insisted.

“And you believe what drunks say to you in bars?”

“Jeez, you’re as bad as my cousins. Quit teasing me and take this seriously.”

He worked his face into the most humorless expression he had, and he had many. “Cara Ferrari is a movie star, Vivi.”

“So?”

How deep was she going to let him dig himself? “I mean, she’s a gorgeous icon…”

Deep.

“Not that you’re not attractive in your own way….” This was getting worse, but on he went. “It’s just that she’s all glitz
and glamour and gloss and you’re…”
Not
.

“I can glam up.”

Now that he’d like to see. “All right,” he relented, not
wanting to hurt her. He squinted at her, and made a camera viewing box with his fingers. “Yeah, I can see the similarity.
You both have dark hair and dark eyes.”

She swiped his hands down. “Never mind, Lang. I should know better than to hope you could think outside the box. I should
expect you to be all linear, trapped by your rules and the way things are supposed to be done. I shouldn’t ever dream that
you might approach something creatively. That would just be asking too much from your structured, formulaic,
uninspired
brain.”

All right, he deserved that after the insults he’d just heaped on her, but something was really off in this conversation,
even for them. “What the hell are you getting at, Vivi? What creative thinking are you looking for?”